Two Writing Teachers to read other Slice of Life stories and leave a comment or two.
I remember an afternoon, some 20 years ago, when my young niece picked up a toy plastic iron and said to Zach, "What is this thing?"
Zach quickly replied, "I don't know. Maybe it's something you cook with."
Yes, that tells the sad tale of the relationship I have with my iron. It's not that I dislike it so much, it just seems to easier to wear something that doesn't need to be ironed. Or, if the article of clothing isn't too badly wrinkled, I shake it out and put it on, hoping that no one notices I should have spent a little time with the iron.
It's not like I didn't have ironing role models. I have fond memories of sitting under the ironing board as my mother or grandmother drew out the ironing basket every Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday, after all, was ironing day in my family. The generations of women did not veer from this sacred schedule. The Young and Restless hummed in the background as droplets of Niagara spray starch drifted down onto me. My grandmother, mom and aunts were religious about their ironing. They ironed pillow cases, handkerchiefs, and dress shirts for the men in their lives. My grandmother even ironed my grandfather's underwear and her sheets.
And I tried. I tried to establish an ironing routine, but for some reason, that gene skipped me.
So, it was with a smile and a grimace that I ventured down to the basement yesterday morning. One of my favorite shirts had been hanging in the closet for over a month because it needed to be ironed before I could wear it. There was no shaking this one out. (Believe me, I tried.)
As I opened the door to the back basement, a bit of panic gripped my stomach. I haven't ironed since we moved into this house over a year ago. Did we even keep the ironing board? Did the iron work? Did we even still own an iron? Yikes!
Thankfully, we had all the equipment and I was able to complete my ironing with success! I happily put my freshly ironed shirt on and went off to work.
However, I know that this shirt of mine will come out of the dryer this weekend, wrinkled as ever. I wonder how long it will be before I wear it again?